Illustration by Lilosome
Letters from the Editors
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No matter how much we plan for each volume, it is always hard to predict how it will turn out. Every volume changes depending on who is involved, what they have to say, and how they need it to be held. With this volume, I think about who our ancestors were before they were ancestors. What were their interests, their hopes and dreams, their heartbreaks? What kind of secrets and regrets were they carrying close to their hearts? What kind of life would and could they have lived if they hadn’t left too soon? How do we carefully carry them with us, while accepting an incomplete picture of a whole life? It is not just our ancestors to whom we owe our respects. How do we honour and remember the children whom we’ve failed as a society? How can we move forward when it feels impossible to carry a person-shaped hole in our lives? What about the people left behind who loved them? What does it mean to take accountability and what do we need to do to make it right by them? When fighting for a future that we want, what does it mean to truly share in our collective power? How can we continuously challenge our notions of power so that we can truly voice and embody freedom and liberation in a way that includes our elders, our children, and our disabled friends and family? What does that mean for diasporic settlers on stolen land and oceans? I look toward this generation of youth and young adults, who already have so much to teach us about letting go and looking forward. Every piece and every volume has been its own kind of revelation. With each year, I come to better appreciate the vastness of Korean women, who we are, what we carry, how much we have had to reinvent ourselves, and what we are able to do. Often, there are no concrete answers to all the questions, but we are capable of dreaming of a world together—one that is so much more beautiful and liberating for everyone. I know for certain that we have such a deep well of strength, generosity, and vulnerability to make it happen. I look back on the last several years of choa, and especially this volume, as perhaps a continuous process of letting go to make room for whatever is to come. However, this feels conclusive but not final, so with that, I’ll see you again. In solidarity and with gratitude always, Harriet |
I-byeol moves through our lives as naturally as time. And yet, when it arrives, it stops us in our tracks—catching us off guard, leaving a bittersweet taste, making our hearts flutter. Every departure carries its own weight. For choa’s final volume, we made i-byeol itself the theme to sit with its complexity and ask what endings might make possible. 이별이 단지 상실이 아니라, 성찰과 되돌아봄, 그리고 성장의 계기가 될 수도 있을까? Some i-byeols arrive in the most intimate corners. I felt the ache in every word and pause of Jieun’s letters to her father, thinking of the burdens the adults around me carried—holding loss while moving forward in ways I was too young to grasp. Melanie’s poem brought me back to the shock I felt in 2014, realizing that the students trapped on the Sewol ferry were only two years younger than I was. At nineteen, it unsettled me deeply. Other i-byeols follow dreams that never came to pass, urging us to imagine another future. Some trace love and sacrifice across generations, through letters written under the Japanese occupation or the lyrics of 민요 that bind us together, while questioning whether every farewell in the name of a better tomorrow—every call for “one voice”—truly serves us all. Others confront what may be disappearing. As Sonya, a filmmaker of ocean stories, asks, “Are our culture and our food in peril?”—a farewell not only to dishes, but to the memories that shape who we are. In many ways, this volume extends the questions we have explored since day one: how we live, care, desire, age, and endure together in a changing world. Perhaps that is the “으쌰으쌰” spirit, as Sonya’s mother describes, running through our blood—our capacity to gather, fight, and rekindle. Becky, the creator of The Halfie Project, asks, “Can you process the grief and anger of saying goodbye so that you can move on to have a better life?” To do so is to realize that i-byeol is never only about departure; it is also about the lessons we carry, the tenderness we grow into, and the courage we discover along the way. I promise that each piece in this volume will leave you with something that lingers far longer than any goodbye. for the future, mirae. P.S. As choa bids farewell, I hope the stories and experiences we’ve shared across the five volumes—even just one—have made you wonder, feel, reflect, and act, and that they continue to inspire. May this i-byeol open new journeys, carrying forward the lessons and hope every goodbye leaves behind. And may we meet again, unexpectedly and joyfully. |
커버 작가 소개
Lilosome(릴오섬). 프랑스에 거주한 지 15년째인 작가이다. 미술학교를 졸업한 후 애니메이션과 게임 그래픽 디자인 분야에서 활동했으며, 코로나 시기를 전환점으로 어린 시절 깊이 사랑했던 수채화를 다시 시작했다. 지난 몇 년간 남프랑스에 거주하며 지역 특유의 강렬한 색채와 빛을 수채화로 담아왔고, 현재는 프랑스 중남부와 파리를 오가며 작품 활동을 이어가고 있다. | Web: lilosome.com, IG: @lilosome_e
그림 소개
레바논 출신 프랑스 작가 아민 말루프는 그의 저서 Les identités meurtrières(정체성 살인자)에서 이렇게 말한다:
"우리가 자신의 나라를 떠나 다른 문화로 이주할 때, 그것은 마치 수천 년 동안 이야기가 써 내려가고 있던 한 권의 책 속으로 갑자기 들어가는 것과 같다."
그의 저서에서 여러 차례 반복되는 단어는 "assumer"—"받아들이다, 책임지다"이다.
우리는 그 혼돈 속에서 정체성을 지키고, 자기 파괴에서 벗어나기 위해,
내가 들어온 이 책의 문맥을 ‘제대로’ 이해해야 한다.
그 이해는 나와 사회의 혼란이 어디에서 비롯되는지를 알게 해주며,
그 지점에 다다르기 위해 가장 중요한 것은
‘나’의 다중문화적 정체성을 받아들이고 책임지는 일이다.
이방인으로서 디아스포라 속에서 느끼는 감정은 피할 수 없는 운명이다.
개인적으로, 그것은 나에게 자신을 허물고 다시 쌓아 올리게 만들었다.
허무는 과정 속에서 여러 겹의 허물들을 벗어내며 프랑스라는 나라에서 사는 이방인으로서의 나,
그리고 그림을 그리는 작가로서의 단단한 나로 다시 태어나는 시간을 거쳤다.
이 그림은 낯선 땅에 홀로 떨어진 이방인들이 내딛는 첫걸음에 담긴 혼란과 그 속에 공존하는 희망에 관한 이야기이다.
Lilosome(릴오섬). 프랑스에 거주한 지 15년째인 작가이다. 미술학교를 졸업한 후 애니메이션과 게임 그래픽 디자인 분야에서 활동했으며, 코로나 시기를 전환점으로 어린 시절 깊이 사랑했던 수채화를 다시 시작했다. 지난 몇 년간 남프랑스에 거주하며 지역 특유의 강렬한 색채와 빛을 수채화로 담아왔고, 현재는 프랑스 중남부와 파리를 오가며 작품 활동을 이어가고 있다. | Web: lilosome.com, IG: @lilosome_e
그림 소개
레바논 출신 프랑스 작가 아민 말루프는 그의 저서 Les identités meurtrières(정체성 살인자)에서 이렇게 말한다:
"우리가 자신의 나라를 떠나 다른 문화로 이주할 때, 그것은 마치 수천 년 동안 이야기가 써 내려가고 있던 한 권의 책 속으로 갑자기 들어가는 것과 같다."
그의 저서에서 여러 차례 반복되는 단어는 "assumer"—"받아들이다, 책임지다"이다.
우리는 그 혼돈 속에서 정체성을 지키고, 자기 파괴에서 벗어나기 위해,
내가 들어온 이 책의 문맥을 ‘제대로’ 이해해야 한다.
그 이해는 나와 사회의 혼란이 어디에서 비롯되는지를 알게 해주며,
그 지점에 다다르기 위해 가장 중요한 것은
‘나’의 다중문화적 정체성을 받아들이고 책임지는 일이다.
이방인으로서 디아스포라 속에서 느끼는 감정은 피할 수 없는 운명이다.
개인적으로, 그것은 나에게 자신을 허물고 다시 쌓아 올리게 만들었다.
허무는 과정 속에서 여러 겹의 허물들을 벗어내며 프랑스라는 나라에서 사는 이방인으로서의 나,
그리고 그림을 그리는 작가로서의 단단한 나로 다시 태어나는 시간을 거쳤다.
이 그림은 낯선 땅에 홀로 떨어진 이방인들이 내딛는 첫걸음에 담긴 혼란과 그 속에 공존하는 희망에 관한 이야기이다.
Cover Artist
Lilosome is an artist who has lived in France for 15 years. After graduating from art school, she worked in animation and game graphic design, but the COVID-19 pandemic became a turning point, prompting her to return to watercolour painting, a medium she deeply loved as a child. Over the past few years, she has lived in the south of France, capturing the region’s distinctive vivid colours and light through her watercolours, and she currently continues her artistic practice while travelling between central-southern France and Paris.
Web: lilosome.com, IG: @lilosome_e
About the Cover Art
Lebanese-born French writer Amin Maalouf writes in his book Les identités meurtrières (In the Name of Identity):
"When we leave our own country and move into another culture, it is as if we suddenly step into a book whose story has been written over thousands of years."
One word that recurs throughout his book is "assumer"—“to accept, to take responsibility.” In the midst of that confusion, to preserve our identity and avoid self-destruction, we must properly understand the context of the book we have entered.
This understanding reveals the origins of both personal and societal confusion. And the most important step to reach that point is to accept and take responsibility for 'my' multicultural identity.
The emotions experienced as an outsider in the diaspora are an unavoidable fate. For me, it compelled me to break down and rebuild myself. Through the process of letting go, shedding layer after layer, I experienced a rebirth as an outsider living in France and as an artist with a strong sense of self.
This illustration is about the confusion within the first steps taken by those who find themselves alone in a foreign land, and the hope that coexists within it.
Lilosome is an artist who has lived in France for 15 years. After graduating from art school, she worked in animation and game graphic design, but the COVID-19 pandemic became a turning point, prompting her to return to watercolour painting, a medium she deeply loved as a child. Over the past few years, she has lived in the south of France, capturing the region’s distinctive vivid colours and light through her watercolours, and she currently continues her artistic practice while travelling between central-southern France and Paris.
Web: lilosome.com, IG: @lilosome_e
About the Cover Art
Lebanese-born French writer Amin Maalouf writes in his book Les identités meurtrières (In the Name of Identity):
"When we leave our own country and move into another culture, it is as if we suddenly step into a book whose story has been written over thousands of years."
One word that recurs throughout his book is "assumer"—“to accept, to take responsibility.” In the midst of that confusion, to preserve our identity and avoid self-destruction, we must properly understand the context of the book we have entered.
This understanding reveals the origins of both personal and societal confusion. And the most important step to reach that point is to accept and take responsibility for 'my' multicultural identity.
The emotions experienced as an outsider in the diaspora are an unavoidable fate. For me, it compelled me to break down and rebuild myself. Through the process of letting go, shedding layer after layer, I experienced a rebirth as an outsider living in France and as an artist with a strong sense of self.
This illustration is about the confusion within the first steps taken by those who find themselves alone in a foreign land, and the hope that coexists within it.
